


let the people stop and wonder

by allourheroes



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animals, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: Credence Barebone, six months after being rescued from his foster mother's cult, likes his boss and his job at the bookstore.The first time Credence encounters Mr. Graves, the man is reading about identity theft.(Rating and chapter count subject to change.)





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> This started with the tumblr meme prompt:
>
>> "you’ve been looking through the self-help section at a bookstore for at least 2 hours and this one employee keeps walking by looking more and more concerned every time"
> 
> And then I just started thinking of all the things that this universe _could_ be. And, uh, my hand slipped.
> 
> Tags, rating, and chapter count may change.
> 
> Title from "Library" by Final Fantasy.

The first time Credence walks by the self-help section, the man is looking at books on identity theft. He feels a stab of sympathy and moves on.

Unfortunately, the older man doesn’t.

The second time he walks by, it’s a book about stress management.

The third time, PTSD.

The fourth, alcoholism.

Then, sleep, relationships, learning to love yourself, and–

“Do you need something?” the man asks and Credence winces.

“I should be asking you that.” Credence clears his throat. “Sir.”  


The man gives him a weird look, then his eyes dart to the nametag before he continues. “But you didn’t, Credence. That’s an odd name.”

Credence shrugs. “Ma was an odd lady.”

The man’s gaze sharpens. “Was?”

“I don’t speak to her anymore,” Credence tells him, shifting awkwardly. “Not that that’s your business.”  


The man hesitates, runs a hand through his hair. “My apologies. I’m a detective and sometimes I just…can’t stop.” He offers a smile. “My name is Percival Graves.” He leans towards Credence conspiratorially, “But I prefer just ‘Graves.’”

“Well, Mr. Graves,” Credence starts, avoiding eye contact as he blushes. He’s still not good with conviviality of any sort. “I might be able to help you.”  


“Oh?” Graves turns the book in his hand, returning it, and grazes through the shelf for another.  


Credence puts his hand before Graves’s on the shelf. “Please,” he requests. He takes the book Graves had just put back and places it where it belongs. He ignores the light chuckle and continues, “What is it you’re looking for?”

“What would a handsome young man like you know about self-help?” Graves jokes, deflecting.  


Credence shrugs. “I…” He starts, swallows. “Quite a bit,” he settles on finally.

Graves’s gaze checks him over and Credence’s lips quirk into an uncomfortable smile.

“So, sir, what do you need?”  


Charmed by the young man’s quiet nature, Graves answers honestly. “I’m not exactly sure.”

Credence’s smile is a bit more genuine as he relaxes ever-so-slightly. He’s been tricked before. 

Graves lets out a sigh. “Any recommendations?”

With a moment of hesitation, Credence pulls a book from the shelf and hands it over. “This… This _might_  be a better place to start.”

Graves smiles.

The conversation is awkward and parts of it are stilted, but it’s a while before Credence seems to see something over Graves’s shoulder.

He goes still. “I, uh. I should get back to work. Excuse me, sir. Mr. Graves.” And with that, he’s turning to go.

“Alright, I–” But Credence is already gone. “…Understand,” Graves continues, to himself.  


Not five seconds later, he feels someone touch his shoulder and his hackles rise…until he realizes it’s just Tina.

“Was that Credence?” she asks, without preamble.  


Graves starts to answer, but his brows furrow. “You know him?”

“That’s the boy we rescued from the Second Salem cult last year,” Tina explains, voice low. Her features haven’t gone soft, but rather hard and angry. “His foster mother used to beat him something terrible.”  


“When you got suspended a few months ago–”  


“Was when I nearly killed that evil woman,” Tina finishes.  


Graves swipes a hand over his mouth. “Jesus.”

Tina shifts, clears her throat. “How is he?” Her tone has taken on a bit of an anxious whine, but Graves can understand why.

“Kind,” Graves replies, without thinking. “Helpful.” He swallows. “Hopefully single.” The guilt crashes over him the second the words leave his mouth, but it’s too late.  


For some reason, Tina laughs.

It just doesn’t sound… _happy_.


	2. A Day in the Life of Credence Barebone

Credence wakes up at 6:15 each morning and panics with what it will mean for him to have overslept.

He lies in bed motionless until 6:30 remembering his new life while listening for the sounds of his mother.

When he hears none--there are sounds, sure, but Ma’s voice, her footfalls, those were distinct and Credence can never forget--he flips open the covers, stands up, and makes his bed. 

Credence makes oatmeal and dares to add a spoonful of sugar in rebellion. He would never have done it six months ago. He would never have survived if not for the victims’ relief fund willing to help him through enough therapy and training that he can function in even a minimum wage job without sticking out like a sore thumb.

They keep sending him e-mails suggesting he take some time off, but he feels guilty enough about the monthly stipend they send that allows him to even pay rent. In another six months, that’ll be gone, so Credence knows he can’t afford an extra day off with how much he’s already struggling.

Once he has finished breakfast, he washes his bowl, goes on to take a quick, efficient shower, and dresses for work. 

He glances in the mirror to make sure he looks presentable: black slacks (donated) that are still a bit loose, a navy polo shirt emblazoned with the bookstore’s small gold logo (Scamander’s Stacks), and shoes that have seen better days. His hair is longer, now that Ma doesn’t cut it every two weeks. He should probably do something about that, but it hasn’t much concerned him.

Modesty has commented on it the last few times he’s gone to see her and Chastity. He misses them.

Credence checks the time--7:15--and grabs his keys, wallet, and the emergency cell phone Detective Goldstein had pressured him to keep on his person, “just in case.”

With that, he heads out the door, locking it behind him, always, and begins his walk to work.

Sometimes people look at him, but at least it’s not the way they used to when he was handing out leaflets.

He arrives at the shop sixteen minutes before it opens at 8:00 (Mr. Scamander would probably keep odder hours if he didn’t feel so bad for making his employees--all two of them--open the store for him sometimes).

Credence still feels slightly uncomfortable unlocking the door to let himself in, but Mr. Scamander might be sleeping or otherwise distracted in the backroom and, for some reason, _trusts_ Credence to take care of it. He does, however, make sure to lock it behind him. Locking up is something Credence knows is important, perhaps because he’d never been allowed a lock under Ma’s roof.

Checking the drawer, Credence unlocks the safe, takes out, counts, and organizes the cash, and goes to look for Mr. Scamander. Credence walks quietly, as if he can’t not, and clears his throat. “Mr. Scamander?”

Credence hears a hum and some indistinct whispering and takes it as his cue to keep searching. “Mr. Scamander?” he calls, a little louder.

Newt’s head pops out from behind a particularly messy bookshelf and he places a finger over his lips.

Credence tenses and tiptoes forward.

Mr. Scamander is unbelievably gentle with creatures and, really, with Credence, so when Credence peeks around to find Newt hovering over a nest, he isn’t particularly surprised.

“Found the poor things on the pavement and I didn’t want to jostle them too much,” Mr. Scamander whispers. He gently taps the heat lamp he has over them and murmurs, “Modified it a bit.” He finally pulls his gaze away from the eggs to offer Credence a smile, still awed by his find, and say, “I think they may be close to hatching.”

A fluffy white cat hops onto the desk Newt is using as a hatchery and Newt shoos it, only for the thing to take another careful step forward. “Now, now, Dougal,” he scolds, and picks the cat up, placing him back on the floor with a light pat to the cat’s behind. “Go on.”

Dougal seems unfazed and Credence scoops him up. “Would you like me to open up the store, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt blinks at him. “Oh. Yes, yes. That would be wonderful, Credence. As I said, call me Newt.” He begins building a fortress around the nest and turns to pull a small green lizard from the shelf.

Credence scratches behind Dougal’s ear and places him on a counter behind the cash register. He checks the time--still two minutes early--before flipping the sign on the door to “OPEN” and unlocking the door.

Credence then spends the next hour and a half organizing the shelves, as much as one can.

Newt encourages that his employees not overly harass customers, which works well for Credence, and he helps several check out before, halfway through the day, Newt is rushing in to turn the sign--but not lock the door, Credence notices--and gesturing for Credence to follow.

Credence does as his boss tells him, with only a second of hesitation, and peers into the fortress Newt has built to see the shell of one of the two eggs beginning to crack. He holds his breath alongside Mr. Scamander as a tiny beak emerges and a tiny, pink bird is seen.

“ _Columba livia_ , I’d say,” Newt assesses. “What do you think, Credence?”

Credence shakes his head uncertainly. He doesn’t know what Mr. Scamander has just said, nor does he know if it’s something he _should_ know.

Newt puts a hand on Credence’s shoulder, the touch comforting. “I’m so sorry!” he says. “A pigeon.” He grins widely, as if there could be no better answer.

Credence stares at the thing, then nods. It could be any bird, as far as he’s concerned, but Mr. Scamander knows better. He smiles. Whether it’s at the miracle of life, Mr. Scamander’s excitement over a common pigeon, or a combination of the two, Credence feels a happy warmth that he used to only feel in fleeting moments with his sisters.

The bell above the door jingles and Newt huffs. “You’d think someone entering a bookstore would know how to _read_ ,” he snipes, beginning toward the front, but Credence stops him.

“It’s alright, Mr. Scamander. You should take care of this.”

“Thank you, Credence,” Newt tells him, and then proceeds to pay Credence no mind as he searches a drawer full of what look to be eyedroppers.

When Credence reaches the front, he sees a man in a scarf with greying temples and his mind immediately goes to the policeman from the other day-- _Mr. Graves_ \--and feels a strange flutter in his chest. 

The man turns and offers him a cordial smile and Credence probably doesn’t hide the strange rush of disappointment and relief that floods through him when he sees that it isn’t _him_.

For the rest of the day, Credence is vaguely embarrassed and spends his lunch break reading over hastily scrawled, illustrated notes about the pigeon and eating the vegetable-packed sandwich Mr. Scamander had placed in the fridge for him.

Mr. Scamander is far too nice to Credence--like he’s another one of the wounded animals Newt is always taking home and taking care of--but somehow the comparison makes Credence less guilty.

Luckily, the day is slow and Credence is able to help as the second pigeon hatches and Mr. Scamander creates a makeshift carrier to move the nest somewhere safe until he decides what to do with them. 

By the time he’s been assured that all is well, Credence leaves Mr. Scamander to finish out the day without him. He wonders if Mr. Scamander knows that there’s a tarantula on his shoulder, but he assumes it doesn’t really matter.

Credence finishes out the day, picking up groceries and returning home--double-checking the door’s lock--and makes himself dinner.

Before bed, he reads a book about an orphan boy who finds out he has fantastical powers that Ma once decreed indoctrinated the youth into performing witchcraft. Something in him aches for the kind of salvation the boy in the story is allowed, but he feels lucky to be where he is now.

At 10:02, Credence turns off his lamp, curls into himself, and closes his eyes to welcome his usual uneasy slumber in the hope it will become easier with time.

At 10:04, his eyes pop back open and he tries to even out his breathing. For some reason, his mind had shown him Mr. Graves and Credence thinks of his mother yet again. _Unnatural_ , he hears her say, and guilt washes over him cold and shameful. “It’s not like that,” he says to himself. He runs the fingertips of one hand over scars on the other’s palm. 

Back in the church, under Ma’s rule, he had always thought he deserved it. He wonders now if that’s still true. Sometimes it feels like it is, even after all that therapists, advocates, and Detective Goldstein had assured him. That he questions all of the nice people that had helped him only makes the guilt worse.

Concentrating only on the feeling of his hands, Credence manages to drift off.


	3. Life Goes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been feeling rather under the weather. This one is Graves-centric, but next will see more Graves/Credence interaction. I'm thinking this will end up longer (in chapters) than I had initially planned...
> 
> Thank you so much to those of your that left comments! They truly give me life.

The click of the mouse is loud in Percival Graves’s otherwise quiet office. There’s still the murmur of noise from the bullpen, but today hasn’t been _too_ hectic.

It’s the excuse Graves uses as to why he’s spending his time snooping-- no, _researching_ old case files instead of finishing the paperwork Red had delivered to his desk this morning.

He has plenty of time.

Picquery is supposed to stop by sometime today to see how her old precinct is running. Graves understands her reasoning, but he still thinks she could’ve accomplished more had she stayed their police chief rather than entering politics.

She did, however, win the mayoral election, so maybe she’ll actually be able to make the changes she had always complained about back when they’d stop for a beer after a long day at work.

Sometimes Graves misses her. That is, until she yells at him again. Then, he’s pretty happy he doesn’t have to see her every day like he used to.

He can just imagine what she’d say about his current preoccupation.

Still...the New Salem Philanthropic Society is an interesting case. He wasn’t on it personally--having been sorting out his _own_ case at the time, the one that still had him itching to punch Gellert Grindelwald in the face--but he remembers how worked up Tina had been.

Chastity Barebone, one of Mary Lou Barebone’s older adopted children, had been the one to alert the authorities. She had also been the one to testify on behalf of her mother, as the woman _had_ fed a number of children out living on the streets--her odd requirements and restrictions notwithstanding.

Mary Lou’s adopted children had remained somewhat malnourished and although Chastity and Modesty had physically been fairly healthy otherwise, the pictures of Credence are enough to explain Tina’s temporary loss of decorum. 

It’s not the worst case either of them had ever seen, but it’s obvious that Tina had gotten too close during her investigation.

Graves slides a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. He never would’ve guessed that the young man he met at the bookstore had been sequestered and abused the great majority of his life. He winces at the way he had reacted, the things he had said.

Percival Graves doesn’t often feel embarrassment, but the thought of seeing Credence again has him mentally squirming. He stares at the picture of Credence and takes in the gauntness of his face, just six months ago. At least the boy’s hair was longer now and he didn’t look quite so fearful--just nervous.

He’s pulled from this reverie as he hears a commotion from the bullpen.

It’s Tina who’s opening his door then, and Graves scrambles to close the files he’d opened. “Picquery’s here,” she tells him and Graves nods, swallowing, and trying not to be suspicious.

He opens one of the folders that Red had brought him and glances over the contents.

Once he has done this semblance of work, he stands and straightens his vest.

It’s not like him to not work himself to the bone, but he’s been going through a lot since the Grindelwald ordeal. He’s been more inclined to search for distractions and drink alone rather than in the company of his coworkers. Graves really hasn’t been at his best for a while.

He emerges from his office and in the second it takes his gaze to find Picquery, she has already sized him up. He hates how she does that.

“Ah, Percy. Glad to see you,” she greets, and the fact that he’s one of her favorites and wants to stay that way allows him to smile at the use of his none-too-beloved nickname.

“Seraphina,” he returns. “How’s that big office treating you?”

“Well,” she says. “It’s filled with sycophants, but at least they do their jobs.” Her eyes move to Tina’s stiff figure.

“Madam Picquery-- Miss. Um. Mayor Picquery. It’s so great to see you,” Tina stutters, and Graves feels embarrassed for her. For some reason, she’s had a hard time around Picquery for nearly as long as the two have known each other.

“You, too, Detective Goldstein,” Picquery says, with far less enthusiasm. She then turns her attention to Graves, who glances around pointedly. Picquery clears her throat. “I expect all of you to uphold my legacy,” she warns the room, with such authority that even her current position as a politician doesn’t lessen her power over those who had once been her officers.

The chorus of “yes, ma’am” is pleasing.

“Good,” she tells them, then brings her attention back to Graves. “Let’s talk.”

Once they’re back in his office, Picquery offers a more relaxed smile. “How are you doing?” she asks. “Really.”

Graves knows he’s caught and chuckles. “Awful,” he tells her. “Not as awful as I was six months ago but I’m still having trouble _trusting_. I’m sure you can understand.” She nods. “Hell, the only stranger I haven’t felt was out to get me is the kid from the bookstore down the street.”

Picquery shrugs. “Trust is overrated. Trust your partner. Trust me. The rest probably don’t deserve it.”

Graves raises an eyebrow. “How enlightened.”

Picquery laughs. “I’m in politics now, Percy,” she reminds him. “When you think someone’s out to get you, they usually are.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Idly, he flicks through the papers on his desk.

“Your life got turned upside down,” Picquery says, without preamble. “You went through hell and you had to come back to find that the rest of the world still went on.” Graves continues staring at the papers. “But it’s because of you that a dangerous criminal is off the streets. Your sacrifice meant the apprehension of Gellert Grindelwald. Your life will go on. _You_ will go on.”

“Would’ve been nice to hear that six months ago,” Graves finally murmurs.

Picquery waits until he looks at her, locks eyes. “You’re strong, Percival. You’ve always been strong. You don’t need me or anyone else to hold your hand, so cram the pity party.”

“I can see your new position hasn’t lost you your famous empathy,” he responds wryly.

Picquery smiles wide and catlike. “Of course not.”

With a deep breath, Graves forces himself to perk up. “Lunch?”

Life, it seems, must go on.


	4. Turn on the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, it's Tina who wants to go check in on Credence. Graves is just lucky to have the excuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be able to get the next chapter out today, too... Maybe...

Tina pulls the car over and Graves looks up from his phone to see her worrying her bottom lip. They’re in front of the bookstore.  


“Just a peek,” she justifies as she pulls the parking brake.

They’re _supposed_ to be interviewing a widow six blocks away.

“A peek,” Graves agrees, although he pretends it’s only to humor her. Maybe that Second Salem boy won’t even be there. Maybe-- Maybe Graves doesn’t know what he’ll do if he is.

They get to the door of Scamander’s Stacks and Tina is a bundle of nerves. She glances back at Graves and he gives her what he knows seems like a calm, reassuring smile.

Really, though, his palms are sweating like he’s a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance, but...

He’s an excellent liar when he needs to be.

And that’s good enough.

The bell jingles to announce their arrival, but no one is in the front of the store when they enter. A cat comes to peek at them from around a shelf and Graves remembers seeing it last time. It’s a big, fluffy, white thing and its large eyes appear to be assessing them before it disappears.

A moment later, a thin man with a snake around his shoulders makes his way into view. “Ah, yes, did you need something?” He hesitates a second as he notes the badge on Tina’s hip. “Newt Scamander,” he introduces. “I’m the proprietor of this shop.”

Tina’s hackles rise. “Sir, is that thing dangerous?” She’s gesturing to the snake.

Newt’s eyebrows lift and he seems at a loss for a second. “Oh, him?” He strokes the snake’s chin. “Well, technically, he _is_ venomous, but he’s--”

“And you keep him in a public space?” Tina squeaks.

“You listen here--”

Graves is distracted from the argument as he sees a figure move in his peripheral vision. He turns to see Credence and immediately shifts his posture, trying to look more professional even as his face unconsciously breaks into a smile. He steps towards Credence.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence greets, and he looks pleased although his voice trembles ever-so-slightly.

_Of course it does,_ Graves thinks. _The boy used to get beaten daily for as little as saying ‘hello’ wrong, according to one of the sisters._

It is then that Graves realizes he should probably speak instead of going over Credence’s whole life story in his head.

He clears his throat. “Credence, right?” he asks, as if he hadn’t just presumptively read it off a nametag last time.

The corners of Credence’s mouth twitch up like he’s surprised that Graves would remember. Suddenly, his expression turns. “Did you want to return the book? Mr. Scamander doesn’t accept returns, but I could pay you back if it’s--”

Graves blinks, but then he waves his hand dismissively. “No, no. To be honest, I’m still on the introduction.”

Credence goes stiff, as if unsure how to compose himself, then nods. “ _Turn on the Light_ helped me through...a lot,” Credence admits. “Albus Dumbledore has a way of saying exactly what you need to hear. Or, at least,” he adds hastily, “what I needed to hear. Read.” Credence bites his lip. “I guess he was Mr. Scamander’s professor in college.”

“Yes, I’ve, ah-- I’ve heard of him,” Graves allows. Hogwarts is in Scotland so he doesn’t know much, but the news had even made papers stateside when Dumbledore had vehemently defended a student accused of a grisly murder. Graves had taken note of it partially because the name “Hagrid” had just been so strange.

Curling in on himself slightly, Credence nods again. “Of course. You know-- Yes.”

Graves sees his chance at making up for his previous rudeness rapidly deteriorating. “Thank you so much though,” he says. “I really appreciate that you took the time to help me out. I guess I was a bit of a wreck the other day.”

“Oh,” Credence brightens. “It’s no problem. It’s my job to help people find what they’re looking for.”

“Is it also your job to deal with grouchy detectives who don’t know how to socialize?” he tries with more charm than is subtle.

Graves swears it’s a blush creeping up Credence’s cheeks. “I didn’t notice,” Credence says. “Socializing isn’t really…” He trails off. “It’s new to me.”

“You’re doing a great job, all things considered.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Graves cringes. He gave it away, didn’t he? He finally gets this handsome-- _traumatized_ , his mind adds helpfully--young man to relax a little and ruins it by reminding him of what he’s gone through. Percival Graves is an _idiot_.

Credence goes quiet, his gaze unfocused, and Graves is certain that he’s broken the poor thing, but then Credence looks at him. “I suppose so,” he agrees.

Graves lets out a sigh of relief. He decides to latch onto what little Credence has actually _told_ him and go from there. “So you liked the book?” he asks. “The, uh, the Dumbledore one?”

“‘Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times. If one only remembers to turn on the light,’” he quotes dutifully.

“Focus on the positive,” Graves sums up. He chuckles. “I’m not very good at that.”

Graves can tell that Credence wants to ask about it, but instead he pauses. “I try to think about the people that have helped me,” he starts. “And I think of my sisters and Mr. Scamander and this job. I’m lucky.” He shakes his head, murmurs, “Not that I deserve any of it.” Idly, his hands are clasped together, thumb rubbing palm.

Eyes drawn to the movement, Graves nearly misses what Credence had said. “Of course you do,” he assures.

Credence seems to wobble between being grateful at the kind words and the denial of them, Ma’s voice in his head to remind him of all the reasons he’s worthless. It would be rude, however, to correct Mr. Graves, he decides. He utters, “Thank you,” but before Graves can respond, the low-level arguing that had been the background noise to their conversation turns to shouting.

Graves sighs and drags his attention away from Credence. “Everything alright?” he asks, rather loudly.

“No--” Tina starts, but she is interrupted.

“Yes. Quite fine, but I’d prefer if you could leave my shop,” Newt tells them, forcing politeness. He glances over to Credence and assesses that the boy is doing alright. “Credence, I think we’ll call it an early day.”

“But--”

“You’ll still get your eight hours,” Newt assures him.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander.”

“Now,” Newt says, looking to Tina and Graves. “Out.”

“You--” Tina starts, but Graves places a hand on her shoulder.

“Just a peek, right?” he reminds her.

Tina huffs, but the wind leaves her sails. “Right,” she grumbles. “But this isn’t over, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt takes on an air of nonchalance, snake still draped over him. “Hm?”

Tina makes a noise that Graves knows will lead to another hour of bickering and ushers her towards the door. “Get the car started, Goldstein,” he tells her.

He tips his chin at Newt in acknowledgement, but his focus turns back to Credence as he pulls a card from his wallet. “Just,” his gaze flickers to Newt and back to Credence, “in case you ever need anything. Um. Or if Mr. Scamander needs anything,” he adds lamely.

Credence takes the card almost reverently. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Of course,” Graves agrees, straightening his posture. He gets outside as quickly as he can after that, mentally cursing himself for sounding so stupid.

He hears the click of the lock and can only assume he’s still being watched. He forces himself to resist the urge to glance back.

Tina is still in a mood as he gets into the car.

“The nerve of that guy,” she says. “Keeping a deadly animal like that in his bookstore? That’s gotta violate at least three laws that I can think of, just off the top of my head.”

“Uh-huh,” Graves agrees, but his thoughts are miles away as she continues her rant.

He imagines conversations that he knows will never happen, not with the impression he’s made now.


	5. A Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is definitely going to be more than eight chapters. I have eight planned and it won't nearly be enough.
> 
> Anyway, sorry this one is so short! (Psst. Comments give me life...)

It’s Tuesday and Scamander’s Stacks is closed for the day, just like every Tuesday.

Credence opens his wallet to pull out the fare for his subway ticket, but his gaze lingers on the business card.

There’s a phone number, an e-mail address, and a precinct listed, but mostly Credence focuses on the name: _Det. Percival Graves_

He wonders if he should be saying “Detective Graves” instead of “Mr. Graves.” Has he been disrespectful?

He worries about it the whole ride over to Chastity’s, first on the train and then in the taxi.

She lives outside of the city with Modesty and Credence knows he could be here with them, too. He also knows that he can’t rely on them for everything.

He can, however, visit them once a week and assure himself that they’re okay. Clutched in his lap on the ride over, he has a box of chocolates.

Ma had never allowed sweets and Credence wouldn’t normally spend money on something so frivolous, but when he gets into the apartment and watches how Modesty’s face lights up when she bites in, he knows it was worth every penny.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

Modesty smiles and nods, but doesn’t speak as her mouth is full of chocolate.

“How are you doing?” Chastity asks, bringing him a cup of herbal tea.

It’s like being home, but home was never this warm or comforting.

Credence takes a moment to think. “Well,” he settles on.

Chastity smiles. “That’s good, Credence,” and she sounds genuinely happy for him. “Tell us all about it.”

Relaxing, Credence begins. “Mr. Scamander found pigeon eggs and hatched them in the store.” Modesty in particular seems wary of this fact. “I met someone who works with Detective Goldstein. They came into the shop again yesterday. He’s...nice.” Credence flushes. There are a million things he wants to say about Mr. Graves but he barely knows the man. He already thinks about him too much.

“Be careful,” Chastity warns and Credence is immediately sure that she knows, even about the other night when he’d thought of Mr. Graves as he’d been falling asleep. He probably has an aura of wickedness around him--that’s what Ma would say. “It sounds like your whole life revolves around that bookstore,” she continues.

Credence, confused, tries to follow.

Chastity takes Credence’s hand in her own. “It’s not like it used to be, Credence.” She glances out the window wistfully. “We have a chance now that we never would’ve before. We can go out and live our lives, follow whims that Ma would’ve forbade. Have _fun_ ,” she emphasizes. “Modesty and I played on the swings in the park on Sunday.”

Credence hunches his back, his face drawn. “That’s great,” he says. “But what if…” He pulls his hand away from hers and places them not around his cup for warmth like he actually wants but clutches them together in his lap under the table. “What if Ma was right?” he asks quietly. “What if what I want is sinful and evil?”

Modesty takes hold of one of his hands under the table. “You’re a good person, Credence. Not a sinner, and there are a lot of them out there,” she tells him, sounding sure of herself.

She’s too young--and definitely hadn’t found her way into Ma’s house at two years old--to remember when Credence was thirteen and had sat down next to a runaway just a year or so older than him. He’d met the boy a few times, but this time the kid put a hand on his knee and Credence couldn’t even begin to process what he was doing or what he was feeling, because the next thing he heard was Ma’s voice.

The runaway was banned and Ma had whipped Credence so badly he couldn’t walk the next day. _“I saw the way you looked at him, boy,”_ she said. _“And I prayed with all my heart that the Lord wouldn’t allow that type of perversion under my roof. Man cannot lay with man, Credence. You know that. If I can’t beat the wickedness out of you, perhaps we can starve out the demon that uses you as its plaything.”_

There had been more--there was always more--but Credence stops the memory there.

“They’ll provide someone for you to talk to,” Chastity tells him, and he knows his descent into the past must’ve been obvious. “But know that I’m here for you.”

Credence nods. “I know,” he tells her, not that he ever wants her to have to deal with his problems again.

“Can we play a game?” Modesty asks and whether it is because she truly wants to or she can feel the tension in the air, it is still a welcome distraction.

“Whatever you want,” Credence responds earnestly.

Modesty leads him by the hand to the other room and Chastity trails behind.


	6. Change Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter yet. Sorry! More Graves/Credence interaction next chapter.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments! ♥

“How is he?” Tina asks, and it takes Graves a moment to figure out that she’s talking to him.

“What?”

Tina secrets herself into his office and shuts the door, taking the seat across from him. “The boy,” she explains, hushed. “Credence Barebone.”

Graves blinks at her. Right. Yes. Tina was the one who had wanted to see him on Monday. He had simply...tagged along. He hesitates.

“So?” she pressures.

“He seems...well,” Graves starts, clearing his throat.

“And?”

“He opened up to me somewhat about his life. He’s a fan of Albus Dumbledore. ”

“That blowhard?” Tina scoffs.

Graves taps the open book on his desk with his pen and, with visible effort, Tina refrains from commenting.

“That’s good,” Tina decides on finally. “I worry about him. I know that he’s out there and I hope he’s living his life, but how? How do people go on from something like that? I know we’ve seen victims who’ve gone through worse, but I was the one who found him and tried to get between him and his mother. I…” She shakes her head. “Horrible woman,” she mutters, moving on. “Does he seem happy?”

Graves considers it, thinking of Credence’s smile, his blush.

“What’re you smiling like that for?” Tina asks, wary. “I don’t like it.” She gasps and leans in closer, grabbing his arm. “You’re not still thinking of dating that boy, are you?”

Caught, Graves shrugs.

Tina scowls. “He’s a _kid_.”

Graves raises an eyebrow. “He’s...twenty-three.”

“And you’re still old enough to be his father.”

Wincing, Graves turns sheepish. “There’s something about him.”

“Yeah. He’s young and beautiful.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it?”

Graves takes a moment to think, remembers what he had said to Picquery and tries to put it into better words. “He’s the only person I’ve met in a long time who I didn’t immediately think had a hidden agenda.”

“He’s not trying to trick you so you want to trick him instead?” Tina cocks an eyebrow, lip quirked in inquiry.

“ _No_ ,” he assures. “No, I don’t want to trick him. I just want…”

“To sleep with a boy half your age who’s been abused his whole life?” Tina corrects.

Graves inhales deeply, gaze focused on the wall. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says with a sigh.

Tina just watches him for a moment. “He’s an innocent,” she tells him finally. “Even after all that,” she gestures, as if the past is tangible, “he was eager to trust somebody. Luckily, that somebody was me or we’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble.”

Brows furrowed, Graves leans back. “Then why did he dash away that first time I met him at Scamander’s?”

“Poor thing embarrasses easily,” she says. “His mother gave him a lot of issues, Graves.” She purses her lips. “And I’m betting that includes some commandments about sleeping with older police detectives.”

Graves manages to laugh at that, although his heart aches. “You’re probably right. I should give this whole thing up, shouldn’t I?”

Tina swallows. “Ya know, if you’re really lookin’ for company, I could have Queenie set you up with somebody. She’s good at that.”

Shaking his head, Graves tilts his head back against the top of his chair and closes his eyes, hands clasped over his abdomen. “That’s alright,” he tells her. “I’ll be fine.”

Of course, all he can see behind his eyelids is a skinny boy with a nervous smile.


	7. If You Need Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humongous delay, I know! I've been super sick, so that's...fun. On the bright side, this chapter is basically all Graves and Credence. Thank you for all the lovely comments!

There’s a demon with sharp teeth and horns and glowing eyes scratching at the door. The handle begins to turn and Credence knows he’s being punished.

He has sinned in his thoughts and in his heart and the devil has come for him.

It takes Credence a moment, lying in his bed with his heart beating out of his chest and tears streaming down his face, to realize that someone really is trying to open his door.

He locked it, didn’t he?

He always does, but--

But--

There’s still a noise at his door and it isn’t going away.

Credence huddles on his bed and lets time stretch on in his fear and uncertainty.

Finally, he grabs his phone.

Without thinking, he dials the number he’s been memorizing.

The one from the business card he keeps running his fingers over.

_“Hello?”_

Credence freezes for a second and glances at the time: 1:56.

He can’t just hang up though--that would be even worse.

“I’m so sorry,” he starts frantically. “I didn’t realize the time. I just--”

_“Credence?”_

Credence stops babbling.

_“Credence Barebone? I-- Are you hurt? What happened?”_

Credence sucks in a deep breath. He doesn’t know if there are still noises outside since all he can hear is breathing--his and Graves’s--and his own sniffling. “I think someone tried to break into my apartment.”

_“I’ll be right there. Just text me your address.”_

“But--”

_“Address.”_

It had sounded like a command and Credence obeys, typing in his address and then realizing it’s probably an awful bother to have an important detective like Mr. Graves come over to his apartment when there’s no immediate danger. He doesn’t hear anything. Why did he--

Why did he call _Mr. Graves_ anyway?

He starts praying to his mother’s God before he realizes God would never save someone like him, that’s what Ma said anyway. He can barely get his mind in order before he hears the knock on the door.

“It’s Graves,” the detective calls.

Only then does he realize that he’s in his pajamas and his face must be red and disgusting from crying. He swipes ineffectively at the tears and walks over to the door.

He can’t leave Mr. Graves there in the hallway, no matter how embarrassed he may feel. Straightening up from the frightened hunch that had once been his way of life, he opens the door.

Mr. Graves looks slightly rumpled, but otherwise as well put together as he normally does. He’s obviously tired, but he also looks worried until he glances over Credence and checks that he’s okay.

“M-Mr. Graves. Thank you for coming over. I know I shouldn’t have even asked. It’s… It was probably nothing.”

“No, no,” Graves assures. “It looks like someone nearly broke your lock.” He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

Quickly, Credence moves out of the way. “Yes. Of course.” He watches as Mr. Graves passes by, so close that Credence almost sways towards the long coat before he catches himself. He shuts the door and does the chain and tries not to fall apart at the confirmation that someone _had_ tried to break in. Or at the fact that Mr. Graves is in his apartment a little past two in the morning.

“Could I get you something?” he asks, trying to think of what one is supposed to do when there is a guest over.

Graves seems almost startled as he looks back at Credence. “Oh.” He blinks. “No, I’m fine.” He clears his throat--again. “Thanks.”

Credence’s head bobs awkwardly in something akin to a nod.

“Did you see anything suspicious? Anyone?” Graves takes a step forward and maybe it’s the time, the space, but Credence thinks he can feel it--as if the closer proximity creates a real, tangible _thing_.

Blinking, Credence tries to think. “No. I went to work. I walked home. I wish I could help more, Mr. Graves. I just woke up and...” He glances back at the door and his hands clench into fists at his side.

“And you called me?”

“I’m so sorry, again, for waking you, sir. And for wasting your time now. It could’ve waited--”

Graves waves him off. “You didn’t wake me.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly and lets out a sigh. “Someone was trying to break into your apartment. You should’ve called. I’m glad you called.”

“But there’s nothing you can do,” Credence argues.

Graves shrugs. “Are you happy I came?” And Credence doesn’t know that Graves is pushing it.

“Yes,” Credence says, blushing.

Graves smiles, then tries to hide his pleasure. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Credence swallows.

“I guess I can...ask around. Probably won’t find anything unless another apartment in the building gets broken into.” He gazes out the window. “Anyway, I’ll go.”

“Oh, yes, uh.” Credence feels flustered and silly and _stupid_ \--Ma liked to call him that, too--and he should go back to bed and--

“Unless you’d feel safer if I stayed.” Graves hazards a look back at Credence. “Just for a while. Make sure you’re alright. And, uh, if your would-be burglar comes back, I can catch him in the act.” He pauses. “If you want me to.”

Eyes wide, Credence stares at the floor. “I would like that,” he admits.

“Alright.” Graves looks to one of the two chairs Credence has beside his table. “Mind if I sit?”

Credence snaps out of his embarrassment and back into host mode. “Please. I’ll get you some tea. I...don’t have any coffee, sorry.”

“Tea is fine. Thank you, Credence.”

Credence makes a noise that comes out like a squeak and heads into the kitchen.

He puts on the kettle and takes out two mugs, placing a teabag in each. For just one second, he imagines doing this everyday. Having someone else in his life. Taking care of--

“Need any help?”

Credence starts. “No, I’m okay.” But he’s not, because he can feel Graves behind him and the devil wants him to lean back against the strong, warm chest and for Graves to wrap his arms around him. He shakes his head ever-so-slightly, tries to shake away the thought.

He listens to the footsteps retreat and takes a long, calming breath before he heads over to sit across from Graves.

“It’ll take a few minutes,” he explains, then tries not to stare at Graves.

It’s difficult because Graves is definitely doing the same.

Credence shifts uncomfortably in his pajamas, aware of how he must look.

“How--” Graves hesitates. “How’s work?”

Credence perks up slightly. “Mr. Scamander said he might be able to afford giving me a raise if his new book does well.”

“He writes?”

“About his creatures,” Credence says. “Sometimes he leaves for weeks to do research. But he hasn’t since I’ve been there.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

“Is he planning on leaving soon?”

The kettle whistles, interrupting, and Graves stands before Credence has the chance to. He holds out a hand to stop Credence from scrambling up.

“Let me,” he says. “Please.”

“But you’re only here to help me,” Credence murmurs in slight despair, watching as Graves makes his way over to the stove.

Graves sets the two cups in front of them and Credence grabs for his, instinctively drawn to the heat of his mug.

“So,” Graves starts, finding some new topic of conversation. “A tea-drinker, then?”

Credence blinks. “Between Mr. Scamander and my sisters, it grew on me. Ma would never’ve allowed it before.”

“That’s right,” Graves puts on. “You used to live with your foster mother.”

Withdrawing slightly, Credence nods.

Immediately, he sees Graves shift. “I started reading the book you suggested.”

Credence brightens.

They talk for a long time and it’s only when the sun starts shining through the window that Credence realizes Mr. Graves spent the night with him.

_Not like that_ , he scolds. He should be more respectful.

“I can’t believe you stayed this long. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Graves shakes his head. “Are you working at Scamander’s today?”

“Yes,” Credence says. “Usually I’d be leaving in a little while.”

“What time does that place _open_?” Graves asks, checking his watch.

“Eight,” Credence replies. “It takes me about half an hour to walk over.”

Graves taps his fingers on the table and looks away. “I could drive you,” he suggests. “Before I start my shift.”

“You didn’t sleep,” Credence protests.

“Criminals aren’t going to wait for me to get a full eight,” Graves returns. “I’ll just stop for a bagel and coffee to hold me over.”

“You could go to Kowalski’s.” Credence hesitates. “It’s right next door to Scamander’s. Mr. Kowalski and Mr. Scamander are friends, so I could probably get you a discount or-- or pay for you. Since you only stayed for me.” Credence swallows. “It’s the least I could do.”

Credence can’t read the expression on Mr. Graves’s face, but then Graves says, “Sure.”

Smiling, Credence excuses himself to get ready and ignores the little trill of what can’t possibly be excitement at the thought of Mr. Graves taking him to work. He gets ready quickly, guilty at making Mr. Graves wait. He wonders if he should offer his shower, but it sounds too intimate and Credence can’t quite bring himself to ask.

Graves stands up straight, almost startled, when Credence emerges, fully dressed, from his bedroom.

“Where was it you wanted to stop?” Graves asks.

“Kowalski Quality Baked Goods,” Credence says. “It’s right next door to Scamander’s Stacks.”

Graves seems to consider it a moment. “I can’t remember seeing it.”

“Mr. Kowalski is a great baker,” Credence assures.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Graves smiles and Credence smiles, nearly forgetting to grab his keys.

He locks the door and Mr. Graves runs a hand over the damaged lock. “I’ll get someone over here this afternoon to take a look. Let your landlord know, alright?”

During the car ride, Graves makes small talk, but Credence is distracted. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing or saying and how to express how grateful he is for all that Mr. Graves had done for him last night and this morning. He can’t believe a detective would spend hours in his apartment just talking to him and making certain he felt safe. He isn’t that important.

Graves parks in front of the bookstore and Credence freezes.

“Coffee?”

Credence shakes himself out of his daze and leads Graves to the bakery’s door.

Graves’s eyes widen. “The _smell_ ,” he says. “I never considered where it came from.”

When they walk in, there are several people waiting in line and Credence is somewhat embarrassed making Mr. Graves waste more of his time.

“Must be good,” Graves comments and Credence, wordlessly, nods yet again.

Before Credence can apologize, Mr. Kowalski is waving them over. “Credence!” he greets. “Get over here.” He pulls Credence, with Graves in tow, to the side. “Whaddaya need?”

“Mr. Graves was hoping to get a coffee and a bagel,” Credence relays, glancing at Graves for more detail.

“Just a black cup of coffee,” Graves explains. “And a bagel. Any bagel you got.”

Mr. Kowalski nods and disappears to the back for a moment, leaving his line, and returns with a cup and two pastry bags. “Coffee and a sesame bagel for your friend,” Kowalski says, “and then one of my paczkis for you.”

Credence pulls out his wallet and opens it up but Mr. Kowalski shoves it closed.

“ _Please_ ,” he says. “It’s on the house.”

“But--”

“No arguing,” Kowalski tells him. “I don’t have the time.” He makes to go back to his line, but turns on his heel and holds up a finger. He pulls something from under the register and hands it over. “For Newt.” He flaps his hand at them. “Now out.”

Graves groans as he begins on his coffee. “Good. Not like the shit we have at the precinct.”

Credence tries not to flinch at the profanity. He’s happy that Mr. Graves is happy. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Just Graves,” Graves says again. “Or Percival, if you get to know me well enough.” The second the words leave his mouth, he shakes his head at himself. “I’m glad you called,” and this he has said already, too.

“I’m glad you answered,” Credence replies, rather timid but still pleased.

Graves clears his throat. “I’ll see what I can do about your lock--and your security. Call me again if you need anything. Or even just...want someone to talk to.” 

“I couldn’t--” Credence starts.

“Call me,” Graves commands.

Sucking in a breath, Credence replies. “I will.”

And as he unlocks the door to Scamander’s and leaves Mr. Graves outside, he wonders what this will do to him.


	8. Just Checking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things rarely work out the way Tina hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took too long. Hopefully I'll get another out quicker!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has left comments! ♥

“What a beautiful bookstore.”

Tina side-eyes her sister and makes her way into the mess that is Scamander’s Stacks. At least the title is appropriate, she thinks. There are stacks and stacks and stacks and Tina isn’t sure how anyone could possibly find anything in here.

Newt appears far more quickly than he should.

“Since it’s clear you have no business here, Detective Goldstein, I think it’s best you leave.”

Tina grabs Queenie by the arm. “But my sister is looking for something. Aren’t you, Queenie?” she grits out, pinching her sister a bit too hard and causing Queenie to wince and bat at her hand.

“Yeah,” Queenie agrees, rubbing her arm. She shoots a glare at Tina and smiles at Newt. “Nice place you got here.”

A combination of surprise and suspicion come over Newt’s features, but he returns a pleasant smile. “Thank you.” Although he glances again at Tina, his attention focuses on Queenie. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

Queenie nudges Tina. “I can’t believe your whining,” she says. “He’s so charming.”

Tina glares daggers at Newt. “It’s just the accent.”

Ignoring her, Queenie takes a step forward. “I know it may seem a bit old-fashioned, but I was hoping to browse your cookbooks.”

Newt gestures behind a stack. “Right this way.” He spares Tina a look. “Should I expect you’ll just stay here quietly?”

“Of _course_ , Mr. Scamander,” Tina forces through gritted teeth.

Newt sends her a glare, but he leads Queenie away as Tina watches.

The second he’s out of sight, she starts searching. She _had_ been preoccupied by how Credence Barebone was adjusting to his new life, but finding evidence of dangerous animals in the bookstore had just become her highest priority, what with the snooty way Newt Scamander--which, what kind of name is _that_?--had tried to get rid of her.

She’s bent over the counter after seeing movement and nearly leaps into the air when the door jingles. Quickly, she backs off and plays it off as curiosity.

“Newt around?” the man at the door asks, and he’s got a paper bag in hand.

Tina glances around to be sure he’s talking to her, then offers an awkward smile. “He’s, uh, in the cookbooks.” As casually as she can, she asks, “And you are?”

“Jacob Kowalski from next door. Brought over a little something.” He holds up the bag in explanation and Tina nods.

Newt appears a moment later, with Queenie--who has an armful of books--in tow. “Ah, Jacob! Have you got it?”

Newt takes the bag and Tina is left with the obligation of introducing Jacob and Queenie, although she’s not sure why she feels the need. Maybe it’s because she was caught snooping. “Queenie, this is Jacob Kowalski.” She gestures. “And this is my sister, Queenie.”

“Kowalski?” Queenie asks. Her eyes are alight in wonder. “I think I might have your book.” She pulls one from her stack and holds it up, smiling.

Nervously, Jacob rubs his neck and looks away before returning the expression. “Yeah,” he says sheepishly. “Newt’s the only one who carries it.” He pauses and waves, causing the others to turn.

Credence has emerged from the back and Tina’s desire to get Newt arrested is temporarily sidetracked.

Jacob looks out the window to the rain and back at Credence. “Probably would’ve been nice to get a ride today, huh?” Credence flushes, but Jacob doesn’t seem to notice. “Even I gotta admit that guy was handsome.”

“He was just doing me a favor,” Credence murmurs, looking away.

“Handsome men do me favors all the time,” Queenie pipes up, as if that will console Credence in his embarrassment.

Tina’s interest has been piqued, but perhaps not in the best way. “Who?”

Newt assesses the situation quickly and addresses Jacob. “Perhaps you could tell Miss Goldstein here more about the book,” he suggests.

Jacob’s eyes widen. “I mean, sure. If”--and he gestures helplessly--“you’re even interested, I mean. I guess.”

Queenie laughs. “Definitely.”

“My, uh. My bakery is right next door,” Jacob continues. “And technically I’m on lunch, not that I ever take a real lunch other than to run over here or to the bank…” He blinks, and his eyebrows furrow. “You really want to know about my baking?”

“Why wouldn’t I, honey?”

Tina rolls her eyes as Credence rings up Queenie’s order, allowing Queenie and Jacob to leave together, Queenie at ease and Jacob a nervous wreck.

“Perhaps you better get going, too, Detective,” Newt suggests with feigned subtlety.

Although Tina looks like she’s going to argue, she sucks in a breath. She looks to Credence. “I hope you’re doing well,” she tells him. In a lower tone, “I know it’s hard, but if you ever need someone to talk to or...if you could just let me know how you’re doing sometime, that might be nice.”

Credence nods. “Thank you, Detective Goldstein.”

With another glare at Newt, she makes her way out the door.

Newt turns his attention to Credence the second Tina is out of sight. “You don’t need to tell her anything, Credence. What you do is your own business and if it happens to involve her partner, so be it.”

Credence is frozen, uncertain how to respond, until finally: “What is it that you think I’m doing with Mist-- Detective Graves?”

Newt blinks. “Well, hopefully whatever you’d like to be doing with him,” Newt replies with a smile and Credence is absolutely mortified.

“Mr. Scamander,” Credence starts, then hesitates. “Do you think that I’m that way? That I’m…” Credence’s voice cannot hide his feelings. “A sinner.”

Suddenly, Newt draws close to Credence, with a placating hand to the boy’s upper arm. “Whether you are that way or not, love is no sin,” he tells him, waits until Credence’s gaze travels from the floor to his own. He offers a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly natural.” When he thinks the message has gone through, he takes a step back and turns to address Dougall, who has stolen a knickknack from the counter. “Besides,” he murmurs as he strokes the cat and takes the novelty quill from his mouth, “it isn’t as if I haven’t dabbled.”

Credence swallows down the lump in his throat and tries to believe Mr. Scamander’s words.

An awful little voice that sounds suspiciously like Ma tells him not to.


	9. Another Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina and Queenie talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter--sorry! More Graves and Credence in the next one...
> 
> Thanks for the comments!

“Could you stop smiling.”

Queenie pouts. “Why?” She shoots her sister a glare. “And you can’t be mad just ’cause I was flirting.”

With visible effort, Tina rolls her shoulders and lets out a huff of tension. “Fine,” she says. She picks at the hem of her sleeve. “I’m just worried about Credence.” She pauses. “And I can’t stand that Newt Scamander.”

“What’s wrong, Teenie?” Queenie asks, placing a hand on her sister’s should.

Tina presses her knuckles to her lips, her elbow resting on the arm of the sofa. “Did I tell you Graves is interested in that boy?” she asks finally.

“Boy?” Queenie questions, uncertain where this particular thought is coming from.

“Credence Barebone.” She sighs. “And now it sounds like he’s dropping him off at work… I’m just scared, Queenie. That boy has been through so much. Graves shouldn’t be sniffing around someone like that, much less--what? Spending the night with him?”

Queenie sits quietly for a moment as Tina continues to muddle things over. “Well, I don’t know him as well as you do, but do you think Graves’d do something like that?”

“Yeah, but…” Tina visibly deflates. “I know he wouldn’t take advantage.”

“Then what are you so worried about? You’re not his mother.” Tina opens her mouth and Queenie glares her down. “Whatever his home life used to be--and it’s okay to want to help him--you gotta let that boy live his own life. And if that involves Graves…” Tina shrugs, starts flipping through Jacob’s cookbook. “Shame there’s no picture of the author,” she murmurs, while Tina silently stews in her thoughts.

Tina lets out a sigh. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m not his mother. But I still don’t feel right about leaving him out there on his own. When you save a life, you feel responsible for it. As a cop, that can make things messy.” Tina fiddles with her empty glass. “I know I’m being overprotective here, but _Queenie_ , Graves is twice his age!”

Queenie takes a moment to think it over, then shrugs. “You can’t control other people, Teenie. If they go out together, so what? Maybe they’re what the other needs right now.”

“I don’t think a boy raised in a cult and beaten mercilessly by his foster mother’s first relationship should be with an unstable police detective.” Tina’s voice rises to almost a sing-song by the end.

Queenie steals Tina’s glass and refills it with water, handing it back to her. “I don’t think that’s your decision to make.”

“Yeah, well,” Tina grumbles. “It should be.”

With a laugh, Queenie takes a seat across from Tina and clasps her hands together on the tabletop. “What’d you think of that Jacob fella?” she gushes, now given the chance.

For once, Tina stays her tongue. “Whadda _you_ think of him?”

Suddenly shy, Queenie glances away. “He’s a nice guy. I can really tell, you know?”

Tina nods. “He seemed alright.”

“I think I’m gonna ask him out.” Queenie smiles. “He _bakes_!”

Tina smiles, too. Queenie’s happiness has always been infectious.


	10. Until It Devours You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so incredibly unproductive this summer. Someone shout at me or something. Oops.

Credence hears the bell and makes his way to the front.

For a second, he thinks it’s Graves-- _again_ \--and just as quickly reminds himself that there are other people in the universe besides Mr. Graves.

But then… But then it _is_. It is and Credence’s mouth is agape.

Graves clears his throat. “Credence.”

Credence tries to hide his shock and school his features, but he’s not sure he quite gets there. “Mr. Graves. Did you need something?”

Graves lifts his hand, a cup from Kowalski’s. “Damn good coffee,” he says. “I had to come back. I figured, since it was right next door, I should see how you were since the, uh, break-in.”

_He’s doing his job_ , Credence assures himself. He grounds himself as best he can before he replies. “They replaced the locks. Thank you.”

“It was no problem. Oh.” Graves raises his other hand. “For you.”

“You didn’t need to get anything for me,” Credence rushes to say.

Graves shakes his hand and hands over the paper bag. “It was nothing. I’d feel bad not getting one of his pastries, but I couldn’t eat it myself.”

Hands trembling slightly, Credence accepts. “Thank you, sir.” He rubs a hand over his face and then Graves is reaching out.

“You’ve got something--” Graves starts, and his hand starts to fall, but then his thumb is swiping over a cheekbone and Credence is letting out a gasp. Graves glances at the pad of his thumb, then shows it to Credence. “Ink?” he suggests.

“Mr. Scamander handwrites everything,” Credence explains, heart fluttering insistently in his chest.

Graves’s expression is unreadable, but then he checks his watch. “Anyway,” he finishes. “I have to get back to the precinct before Goldstein starts calling.”

“Oh. Of course,” Credence chirps. “Thank you. You didn’t need to get me anything though,” he continues. He resists touching his cheek even as it burns with the remembered feeling of Graves’s thumb.

Graves stares until Credence looks up from his feet to see him. “Credence, you’ve been nothing but kind to me. Truth be told, I asked Mr. Kowalski what your favorite pastry was. I wanted to get something for you, Credence.” He waits, hoping that his words sink in. “Do you understand?”

“I… I’m not sure, sir.” Credence thinks he does, but what he thinks can’t possibly be right. He’s never right.

With a sigh, Graves offers him a weary smile. “Think on it,” he says. “Goodbye, Credence.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Graves,” Credence returns, but he’s twisted up inside.

Even as the store gets busy, Graves is on his mind. On his lunch, he stares at the brown pastry bag. He dares to open it and his heart starts thumping hard against his ribs, not as fast as before, but strong and undeniable. Mr. Graves had asked Mr. Kowalski what _he_ liked?

Despite being so close to Kowalski’s bakery, sweets were still a treat for Credence, still had a taste of the forbidden. Credence savors the treat that it is and tries not to read into it. What did Graves mean? Why did he get something for Credence of all people?

Newt walks into the backroom and Credence straightens, trying to look like a model employee, even at break.

Newt waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind me, just thought of a few edits to add to my observations.” He pulls his notebook over from the other side of the table.

“Should I go up to the front, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt shakes his head, pen poised over paper. “Was there something else you needed?” His eyes flicker from the page to Credence’s balled fist on the table.

When Credence cannot summon the words, Newt takes another look at him.

“Did you see Jacob?” he asks, his head gesturing to the bag. “I didn’t hear him stop in.”

Credence swallows. He still has the sinful taste of indulgence on his tongue. “He didn’t.”

“Ah,” Newt says, with an air of knowing more than one should. He hesitates. “Would you like to talk about it?”

After freezing for a moment, Credence checks the clock. “I should get back,” he announces quickly.

Newt places a gentle hand on Credence’s. “I heard Detective Goldstein offer her ear, as well. And I’m certain your sisters are quite willing… It doesn’t have to be me, Credence. But I do think you should talk to someone.” Newt looks away. “Of course, _I_ wouldn’t, but I’ve always had trouble with...human interaction. At least since school.”

Credence lets Mr. Scamander’s hand linger. It’s not as hot as Graves’s touch, but a comforting warmth. “I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt’s smile is slightly self-deprecating, but it twists into something more genuine. “I don’t treat you like people, Credence.” He seems to realize how it sounds. “I mean that as a compliment.”

“I can’t talk to anyone about this,” Credence murmurs, still standing awkwardly beside the table. He doesn’t dare so much as glance at Mr. Scamander. “People keep telling me to open up, but I can’t tell them.” His face is pained, stuck inside another bad memory. “Please, Mr. Scamander, don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Mr. Graves to know I’m… _sick_.”

Newt opens his mouth to speak again, but Credence pulls his hand away, swipes it quickly over his face and disappears into the front of the store.

Against his conscience’s wishes, Credence leaves at the end of the day without another word exchanged with Mr. Scamander.


End file.
